Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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Hard is good

It was the odd Saturday night in that both kids were out doing their own thing and Belle and I had the house to ourselves. We had been out and about doing domesticy things before deciding to have dinner at our favorite Mexican place. When we got home, she decided we’d fool around. 

I was being kind of cluless about the whole thing and was in my comfy clothes and had Game of Thrones all queued up (Belle has decided to finallly start watching so we’re still early in season one) when I looked over and saw her getting into bed naked. Ok, then. I got naked and slid in next to her. 

Of course, it all starts with the kissing. But I was unlocked and the candle was lit and my skin was on hers so things escalated quickly. I reached around her leg and slipped my fingers into her snatch from behind. I love feeling her clit from underneath and the different sensation and my mouth on her opposite nipple had her breathing heavily in no time. The position we were in gave her easier access to the penis which was hard and needy. She was fingering it in return, occasionally rubbing her thumb in circles over the flare in its head. Almost enough to make me shoot right there. Made my breathing fast and short. 

Having already come once that day about 14 hours earlier, Belle was going to need something more than the kind of stimulation I can give with my body. She grabbed her trusty purple vibe from the drawer and used it on herself while I fucked her with my ring and middle fingers. Up and in and curling around trying to hit her G-spot, eventually finding the right rythym to her own vibratory gyrations. Since we were alone, she could be as loud as she likes to be (which is LOUD). It took her longer than usual but it was all good. She was clearly enjoying the feeling of my fingers in her, the vibe on her, and my mouth sucking her tits. She said, Oh fuuuuuck! in that way that makes me all melty inside. Then she exploded vocally (hi neighbors!) and her pussy throbbed and clamped under my hand.

I’ve had an interesting relationship with erections in recent months. There’s a trope online about chastity making it more difficult to have an erection and I think that’s true, but it’s not a physiological thing. It’s all mental. The other day, we were trying to use the Boyfriend extender and it wasn’t working because I couldn’t keep it up (that whole morning was a disaster). Earlier in the morning yesterday, I had no problem keeping an erection until I got too close to coming and then it went away all by itself. So yes, chastity does affect your erections, but it does so by rewriting how your brain and penis work together. Or complicating their relationship. I know this because when Belle told me I could fuck her, the penis was ready and willing. All systems go this time.

As soon as I entered her, I could feel that my fingers had already been there. But it felt different in another way. I could also be more vocal and used the energy of it to be more primal and physical. This was not fucking encumbered by D/s dynamic overheard. This was fucking. No obfuscation between penis and brain. Not long after I started, I realized I wanted to come. Really wanted to hear her say I could. Then, the magic words. Ah, bliss.

But even this was different. Usually when she says I can, I either do it almost immediate or freak out. But not this time. She said it at exactly the right time. It wasn’t so far away I had too much time to think about it, but not so close that I couldn’t control myself. I let it build. Felt it accumulate energy in my balls and move through me, physically and mentally. My thrusting into her was different than usual when I know I can’t come or don’t know if she’ll let me. This time, each one had a purpose. For once, the rabbit and the lizard were working in tandem. No internal conflict. No regret. Just wanting to feel myself coating her snatch in my release. Feel the hard penis fuck through pools of its own making. Each thrust put me a centimeter closer and each thrust was punctuated by my grunts in her neck. When it finally happened, there were multiple explosions of light and sensation all over my body. As each surge of fluid left me and flew into her, brain chemicals I rarely feel in their full force flooded my bloodstream. It was a Top 5 orgasm. So good and so pure and so wonderful. The kind of orgasm you can’t have if you’re having them all the time. 

Then I went comatose. I’m no match for the post-orgasmic hormones and I was immediate high as a kite. Can’t hold my prolactin. But I came around. Eventually. Then we watched GoT. Poor Bran. And oh how young they all look. 

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There ain’t nothin’ wrong if it feels all right

 Deep sigh. Here we go again.

There was a mall near where I lived as a teenager and at this mall, out in the parking lot between it and the 10, was a building called Tower Records. I know, there were lots of Towers but this was my Tower and the one where I discovered music. Not specific music, necessarily, but MUSIC. My parents didn’t listen to a lot of it as I was growing up. The only album I remember my mom playing was a Connie Francis boxed set and my dad’s coolest 8-track tape was Hot August Night by Neil Diamond (and this explains my appreciation of Barry Manilow to this day). Anyway, Tower is where I discovered that music was a thing that could speak to you and mean something and wasn’t just pleasant noise. I’d go there with my friends and spend the little money I had on records, usually whoever it was those friends were listening to since they knew about music and I didn’t.

Except one day. One day, I bought something that wasn’t as a result of a friend’s tastes. At the checkout counter was a display filled with 7″ singles pressed in purple vinyl for a song I knew nothing about by an artist I never heard of. It was the first release of When Doves Cry by Prince (b/w 17 Days). This was before Purle Rain came out and before the album was released. I played that little record again and again and again.

Prince sounded nothing like anything else I was listening to at the time. He was funky and screamed and sang in falsetto and played the meanest fucking guitar around. When Doves Cry led me to 1999 and that led me to Controversy and Dirty Mind. And then I saw Purple Rain. And that all made my head explode. Prince has been called the master of the single entendre because when he sang about sex, it was fucking sex. And, it seemed especially early on, that’s all he sang about. He sang about a lot of casual sex and cheating sex (and incest and oral and even cuckolding). Some of his most famous songs were about women who had sexual agency. They weren’t always being seduced by him. In a lot of cases, they were the ones seducing. They were the initiators. The one looking for the easy hook-up with no strings attached. In a way, he was the first to tell me the conventional trope of how men and women related to one another was bunk.

He landed in my world at the very moment I was starting to appreciate how I wasn’t like all the other boys and Prince, like David Bowie, showed me that not all the other boys were like them either. His sexuality was slippery. He sang about men and women but had enough little things dropped in along the way to make you wonder what else he’d been up to. He presented a masculine persona but his outward gender expression was plastic. I didn’t think of him as bi like I did Bowie but I also didn’t think of him as 100% straight. He showed me that sexuality was personal and didn’t have to fit in a box and that sex itself was a thing to celebrate and enjoy.

I will tell you, Prince inspired teenage me to have a lot of sex. I jacked off to both sides of the Dirty Mind cover more than once.


Lovesexy was about the time I started to drift away from Prince. The world had moved to compact discs by then and, for whatever reason, he released that album as one long track so I rarely got to the end of it (even now, the digital version on Tidal is all one chunk). He also started singing more about God which I couldn’t identify with and some of his songs seemed downright hokey (Raspberry Beret, which I like now, seemed especially bizarre to me…Old Man Johnson’s Farm?). Then he fell out with Warner Bros. and stared releasing albums on his own with no marketing. I was shocked to see that the music of his I was familiar with probably didn’t amount to more than a third of what he put out. So much to catch up on.

Prince was an inspiration to me. The way he created his own sexuality that couldn’t be compared to any other. He allowed himself to be exactly what he was. We should all be so lucky.

https://youtu.be/9FrSKe_w6_g

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Presumptive assumptive

You’d imagine that at some point I’d learn not to make assumptions. My assumption this morning was, since I volunteered to get locked up so as to ensure my good behavior yesterday and, had I not, I’d’ve likely been left unlocked until later today, that I was going to get out again this morning.

She told me to go close the door and I did. When I got back into bed, I was on all fours and she reached up between my legs and started to caress my balls with her fingers. All five of them running down the sides of my increasingly taut ball sack, a few occasionally stroking my perineum. The kind of touch that makes my limbs weak and the cage so crowded.

“I’m going to leave you in there this morning.”

Whimper. Then she made a half-laugh amused sound.

But she kept at my balls so I almost didn’t care that I wasn’t getting out. Almost. I kept thinking about her hot pussy and sinking back into it. But then she’d stroke my balls again and the thought would falter and go unfocused.

“You’re leaking on my arm.”

Whimper, again.

The Steelheart was so tight. So fucking unrelentingly tight. I could feel my heart beating inside it as the erection fought the warm steel. Futile. It became a fight between feeling the wonder of my balls being caressed and the ring and tube crushing them in response. Then she pressed on them. Hard. The sack being so tight made it especially vulnerable to that kind of action. I moaned/groaned in response.

“I don’t know how to interpret that.”

Me either. It hurts and I’m frustrated into a stupor but I like the intensity of it. The loving hardness of her. Don’t stop doing it/stop doing it.

I repositioned myself to lay beside her and she pulled off her night clothes exposing her beautiful breasts. I put both my hands on them and rolled her nipples between my thumbs and index fingers. They hardened to my touch and the mean steel pressed into her leg. Her hands went straight for her pussy. Her hips were grinding and moans left her lips and she got herself off while I focused upstairs. I wasn’t expecting this.

Her pussy is so much to me. The whole world. After yesterday’s wonder, today was turning into the opposite. I was getting zero pussy. I could tell by her sounds and her movement this wasn’t a warm up act. She was going all the way and, once there, wouldn’t want or need me to touch it.

She came as loudly as she dared and maybe a quarter as loud as she would have liked. Yes, Belle’s the kind you can hear from down the block in the summer.

Whimper, 3X.

This is a different kind of denial. Denial of access. Of feeling her come. Sure, I was there. In the room where it happened. But it was all hers. It was hard for me. Harder than being locked up. Harder than making myself avoid orgasm when every cell in my body wants it.

We laid together after. She was coming down and I was vibrating inside. Uselessly. There would be no focus of my energy in our bed today.

“I’m so horny,” was all I could say. Stupidly. Of course I am. But I needed to say something and that was the only thing that pulled itself together.

“Hmf,” she replied. In a way that clearly communicated the lack of interest she had in my comment. The pointlessness of it.

“Being horny is better than not, right?”

“Thank you, Belle Fille.”

Later, in the kitchen making breakfast, I felt amped up and jumpy. Wonder why. But I also realized that my earlier comment sounded passively manipulative. What she wanted this morning was to make herself come. There’s nothing whatsoever wrong with that and, while I can be disappointed in not getting what I wanted, I don’t get what I fucking want. Because that’s not what our sex is about and I know that and that’s what I asked her for. It is pointless for me to say I’m horny when it was obvious I was. Being horny is normal for me and not her problem. It’s a feature, not a bug, so don’t report it.

I apologized for saying it. I reiterated that she should always do what she wants. I should never say or do anything that could motivate guilt within her if all she was doing was operating under the established rules of our dynamic. Which she was.

The problem wasn’t her. The problem was me and my assumptions. I cannot assume I’ll be let out. And, regardless, I cannot assume that when she gets off it’ll be as a result of my actions. Figure it out, you dumb bunny.

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A good morning 

April, so far
Device distribution, April to date

When we got back from Spring Break, as I said, I locked myself back up in the Looker 02. In the weeks since, I only got out to swap devices and have otherwise been secured the whole time. I switched the L02 for the Steelheart because it’s Belle’s favorite and then, due to my own inattention, needed to go into the Jail Bird. Being locked up in a closed tube like the Steelheart as much as I am has made me much more aware of the changing chemistry of urine than the average boy, I’m sure. Suffice it to say, I neglected my hygiene routine for too long and things started to burn after peeing. Nothing a few days in an open air cage couldn’t fix. (For those of you who like their data visualized, I have included a chart.)

She felt it was important for me to stay locked up until today to help me reset my attitude and submission to her. What with all the talk about other men and what they were saying to her and threatening to do, I found myself craving her pussy more than at any other time in recent memory. Mind you, I like it a lot even on the worst days. What I’m talking about here is a whole ‘nuther level of pussy craving.

I woke up with the penis all pushed up against the bars of the JB. My balls have been feeling especially plump for the past week (likely a result of being so turned on so much of the time), and the whole package was the very definition of “straining.” She let me have the bit that fits the locking screw and it went well and fine until I had to get my nuts out. They were just too fat to slip through without a painful wince. In earlier days, this kind of thing would probably have left me feeling the symptoms of blue balls for two weeks, but I rarely feel that now. Just this ouchy quick trip through a steel ring.

Everything is more intense in those moments the penis is out and hard for the first time after a few weeks. I want to devour her from the pussy up and she needs to give me a figurative swat on the nose to calm down and remember my place. But god did I just want to plung right in and fuck her to bits. Regardless, I did my duty and kissed her and sucked her tits and fingered her snatch and felt the hard-on between us throb and grind into her thigh.

There’s this one little spot on her clit. On the right side, down a little. If I let my finger tip flick over it in just the right way I can make her right foot jump. I love that being so focused on her pleasure for so long has left me as familiar with her pussy as I am the penis. I know her spots. I know the places to touch to warm her up and how many fingers to use and where to go when she’s plateauing and then how to bring her home to orgasm. I know her rythym and what her sounds mean and where she is in the process of coming with me. I can tell the difference between her letting it take longer because she likes what I’m doing and when she’s having a harder time getting there. Her body and my brain connect there in a more intimate way than they do when the penis is inside her. And when she came this morning, I had to stifle my own exclamation at feeling her clamp down and pulse on my finger, back arched and eyes closed. The female orgasm — Belle’s orgasm — is one the most beautiful things in the world to me. And like all of them, they’re over too quickly.

I fought the urge to push in as soon as she was done. I found my body positioning itself above her even as I told myself to wait for permission. With just the slightest touch by her, I moved over and shoved the penis home. And…oh, my. I just. There aren’t words for how it felt. To be in her. Soft and warm and wet. The feeling of total gratitude towards her for sharing that part of her with that part of me. Millions of years of evolution to make it as inviting a place as possible to a man all came crashing down on my head and I nearly shot my load the second the penis was totally in her. But I didn’t. She told me I was expressly forbidden to do so. So I fucked her slowly and gently and with a constantly changing rythym so as to avoid getting too close too quickly. I felt like the first time I had to stop to avoid coming she was going to tell me to get out so every fiber of me was focused on not getting there.

Sometimes, when I get to fuck her, I fantasize about other men having been there first. In the past, that was entirely fantasy. To an extent, it still is. Maybe it’ll always be so. But the fantasy is ever so slightly more real now and I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that what she was letting me do to her she was letting me do to her. That I didn’t have any special claim to that place. That someday another might be there instead and her soft cooing would be the result of his actions and her hands would be wrapped around his neck and on his back as he pumped into her as I was. My heart was filled with gratitude that I was being allowed the pleasure. And it was so much pleasure. I concentrated on how it felt to such an extent I could feel the grip of her pussy precisely and the feeling of the individual petals of her labia rubbing past the flair of the penis head as it slid by. I could feel the tip of the penis barely graze her cervix and couldn’t help but think if I was going after him I wouldn’t be near it. I felt drunk on the passion of it all.

I lasted a lot longer than you might imagine. It was glorious, but eventually the lizardly part of my sexuality snaked up out of its hole and muscled in. I started to fuck her harder and faster. I pushed in as far as I could and tried to push in deeper. Her breathing changed as the impact of my body into hers bacame more intense and purposeful. I could feel an orgasm rising in me. I could feel it shoving its way past my inner guards as though she had given me permission to come. But she hadn’t. This wasn’t about having an orgasm. This was about coming in her. This wasn’t about pleasure, it was about possession and competition and making mine the seed she carried. It was older and more primal than love.

Just as the the orgasm started to touch the point of no return, to words screamed out in my head at the same time.

MINE.

STOP!

And I did. I stopped thrusting. I held still. The penis flexed and pumped like a drowning man clawing for a rope that wasn’t there. One lonely shot of ejaculate came out, then nothing. No orgasm. Just intense and nearly overpowering craving to do so. I growled like a Klingon into her neck. I fought the urge to bite her. The lizard screamed at me and yelled about how some other guy wouldn’t stop. He’d never stop. Idiot rabbit.

“Mine” it is not. The thing I was fucking her with isn’t even mine. None of if it is. It’s all hers. Every bit of it. My heart filled to explode. So much love.

Afterward, I asked to go back in to the Steelheart. I could tell the lizard was still slithering in the shadows. I could tell by how the penis felt and the impulse I had to grab it and yank on it. If she left me alone with it, things would happen. So she laid there as I assembled the device and turned the lock. And that’s where it sits now. Behind steel and beyond reach. Until she wants it again.

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Options all around

Belle and I experience the openness of our relationship in different ways. For me, the possible reality of it being open in her direction as well as mine has all kinds of net beneficial impacts. My submissive instincts are heightened, I’m deliriously attracted to her, and I’m simply very happy that she’s excited and feeling good (side note: TOG didn’t blow it entirely and is still in the picture and back in Belle’s “good graces”). I remain totally free of jealous feelings and lack any notion of possession over her but do have a noticeable sense of competition resonating within me (not that I can compete with a thick 7½ inches, but I have lots of other talents and attributes). 

However, I don’t see a lot of these things happening in her when I’m with other people. I think there are several things that account for this. One, so far, I’ve only been with other men and she knows that I’m not able to develop romantic feelings for them. Close, physical relationships to be sure, but never achieving ingnition into love. In short, these things are really about sex. And the sex it’s about is the kind she has a difficult time giving me. The kind that involves props and pain and buckles that she could do but both of us would know it’d be just for show and then it’d lose its magic. So it’s more like letting someone walk the dog. Kind of a physical maintenance thing you’re perfectly happy letting someone else attend to. Finally, in these scenarios I do not have and will never have a usable penis. 

In as much as I’m unpossessive of her, she is intensely possessive of the penis. She feels as though control over it is control over my soul and, if that’s the case, it doesn’t really matter what the body is doing. She reiterated that regardless of who the potential partner is, the penis will never be allowed to penetrate them or be pleasured by them. It will always be secured. It belongs to her and she fucking means it. 

I admit, this really works for me. Not just because I’m a sub and like being controlled and denied and all that, but because it makes me feel special that she is so possessive over (at least part) of me. And that makes me wonder if my lack of feeling possessive over her could be construed as a negative thing. It shouldn’t be. It’s not that I don’t cherish her. I do. But for me, that manifests in a way that allows me to want for her all kinds of pleasure and experience. It seems so clear to me that I’m emotionally and mentally polyamorous by nature. But besides that, the notion of feeling possessive connotes an entitled control and, as a submissive, I simple don’t feel as though I can claim that. I’ve exchanged the traditional notion of exclusive partnership (as if that means much to me anyway) for a relationship dynamic that is much more emotionally satisfying and the net result is I have no right of possession over her at all. 

I hope that she feels compelled to explore this new openness in the future regardless of how current options play out for her. I’m also amazed and infinitely grateful that we’ve got an arrangement that allows us both freedom to proceed in ways that don’t compromise our conflicting expectations of what “open” means. 

In related news, Drew was in town again the other day. He has a client here now and will be visiting a lot more frequently and for longer stretches than he has in the past. We had dinner together at a South American restaurant (covered in some detail here). We had a good conversation and covered in frank detail the issues that led to the ending of our sexual adventures. I admit, most of the issues were mine so it was incumbent on me to be as honest as possible and I was. Maybe it was me playing to the audience of the big purple-haired possibly dykish bartender who overheard 60% of everything we said (and inexplicably turned me on), but I tried not to hold back. 

Short story is, we’re negotiating a resumption of that aspect of our relationship. Unlike last time when we kind of rushed into it and didn’t necessarily set good boundaries, this time there will be a contract and everything. Having clearly established limitations and expectations is D/s 101-type stuff. Of course, there is nothing kinky D/s folk love more than contracts. 

The big thing I asked of him, the “price of admission” to be able to top me again, was to choose which he wanted more: A friend or a sub. I fully admit that such a request seems cold and unfair, but to follow the whole “Mistress vs. Goddess” thing (but in this case, “Master vs. God” perhaps), I don’t naturally have it in me to worship a guy like I do a woman. It’s just another part of my flavor of bisexuality that I can’t love a man romantically and I can’t create in my head the necessary framework to allow a more passive domination over me by one. The only way a D/s thing with work with Drew is if he is actively working to extract my submission and the only way I can get myself into a place where what can happen is if I don’t have to find a place to put all his insecurities and random life issues while it’s happening. And I don’t say that to suggest he’s excessively insecure or anything. He’s like any other person and has all kinds of issues and attributes mashed up inside him. He’s an emotionally open person and freely expresses himself to his friends. That’s cool if he’s my friend. But if he’s my Dom, it doesn’t work for me. So I asked him to pick. And he did. 

The contract is essentially done. All I need to do is send it back to him with acknowledgment of such and it will take effect. I’ll probably do that today some time. One of its provisions is I won’t be expected to write about my relationship with him here or on his blog or anywhere else. It’s not that I don’t like to share the intimate details of my sex life (obvs.) but I found the expectation that I would to be difficult to deal with. So I’m sorry for the hot homo sex fans amongst you, but I won’t be going there this time (he is, of course, free to write whatever he wants on his blog). Also, the new deal more clearly establishes when I’m doing “Drew time” and when I’m exclusively doing “Belle time.” Also also, it makes clear that there will be periods when the contract is being recognized and followed and times when it will not be (and those dates will be understood by both beforehand). I think that’s important because I found last time I needed some space and never really felt like there was time to get it. 

So, that’s that. Further experimentation in ancillary D/s. Tally ho.

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Hell hath no fury

I experienced a whole new thing on Sunday. Belle and TOG had arranged a time to Skype and the time came and went with no word from him. She was disappointed and hurt, as anyone would be, and I was mad. 

Thing is, “mad” doesn’t really capture the emotion. I was really mad. Furious, but not letting it show to her. There’s a flavor of anger that is specific to someone wronging one of your own and that’s what I was feeling. It’s not a thing I’ve ever felt in that context. I was left to comfort her because this guy had flaked out on her, like you would a good friend except this good friend was my wife. The objective, Vulcan part of me has tried to understand what his POV might be and appreciate what he may be going through, but the rest of me gives not a shit about any of that and wants to hurt him.

They have exchanged communications since but I’m not privy to the convo because she’s decided not to tell me. All I know is she told him what she felt she needed to considering his behavior. No idea if this is the end or just a bump, but I’ve decided to stop writing about TOG for the time being either way. There may come a point when it makes sense again, but not now. Last night, Belle said to me, “Your readers are going to be so disappointed,” sort of in rueful jest. That punctuated the growing feeling I already had that spending so much time documenting them here was feeling way too invasive to her. The very last thing I want her thinking about is how her outside relationship is potential wank fodder for people who read me for the prurient details (and trust me, I’m very much pro-prurient details in other contexts), how they’d react if that doesn’t work out, what they would say in comments, etc. I have enough trouble with that.

So, if I talk about it, it’ll be in an abstract way and from the POV of a submissive in an open relationship (while the idea of calling myself a cuckold is dirty hot, I’m not sure I am once since I am also free to have outside sex…as long as it doesn’t involve the penis). For instance, having to console her drove any and all sexy thoughts from my head. It made this even more a Real Thing, not just because it affected her but how it affected me (the quiet rage thing). This is the part the hawt cuck porn doesn’t help you with and accentuates how real life is. You get all kinds of emotions and outcomes, not just the formulaic. I was part concerned husband, part submissive partner, part comforting friend who wanted to drive over to his house and kick his ass all at the same time. He wasn’t the potential bull for my hotwife, he was an emotionally immature idiot who didn’t know how to use his words. Maybe both at the same time, but the one eclipsed the other (and still does). 

Objectification issue: Resolved

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Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

Mrs. Fever had a typically insightful comment to my last post regarding the issues of objectification in open relationships and it’s made me think. Belle, in particular, appreciates hearing her point of view. In any event, you should read it if you haven’t.

Objectifiction is tricky. Some of us want to be objectified, but that’s not my point. I think it’s well neigh impossible for us as sexual beings to avoid all instances of objectifying the objects of our desire. I mean, we call them “the objects of our desire,” right? If you’re checking out porn for the purpose of relieving sexual tension (I’m told that’s what some people do with it), then you are going to objectify. It’s inevitable. There are even times when you’re with a significant parter that you might slip into the mode where you’re objectifying them. What I’m saying is, I think it’s a natural human thing to do. But, I also get why someone wouldn’t want to be objectified. To be reduced to an action and have all the dimension stripped away sounds icky. 

I think this is more an issue with men than women, though I could be wrong. In any event, I’ve found myself both objectifying Belle and TOG over the past several days but also being very cognizant that they’re both real people with real emotions and motivations that have nothing to do with what makes the penis swell inside its steel containment. The second night after Belle revealed the extent to which she’s been communicating with TOG, my furtively fertile imagination simply would not stop imagining their time together. As the fantasy got into high spin, the scenes started to condense until the moment that looped through my mind over and over was a tight shot of his cock buried balls-deep in her, flexing in orgasm as he shot his load into her. It was pure pornography. It was the distillment of the cuckold fantasy. The literal money shot. And it wasn’t necessarily about Belle and TOG. It was about the concept of Belle and TOG and their actions in the context of our marriage. So, I totally get what Mrs. Fever is coming from. In the light of the day, I can still feel the significance of that image in my mind but I also feel a little guilty for it. Because I also know that those two are both complete human beings doing something that’s about them and not me but part of me wants to make it all about me.

The mistake a lot of people seem to make when they try and draw their partners into a D/s arrangement is wanting them to live up to the fantasy expectation they bring with them (perhaps that’s a problem with all relationships, come to think of it). I told Belle this morning that even though we’re perilously close to making real pretty much the most potent fantasy left in my head, I do not want it to happen at the expense of either her or TOG. She needs to think about her own emotional health and his and if shit happens and it doesn’t make sense for them to proceed, I’d rather that then know it was a bad experience but he still fucked her. Basically, I don’t want my kinks or desires to influence how their relationship develops. Even if that means it develops in a way that doesn’t satisfy my fantasy, either at all or completely. As in all other things, reality is better than fantasy because it’s real. At the end of the day, I love her and only her happiness is my goal. Also, I don’t want my fantasy to be part of fucking up what sounds like a nice young man.

In other news (yes, there are other things going on between us!), Belle thinks that during this period of my submissive “reset” that I stay locked up. That could be for a while. I think she’s right. I think what I need more than anything right now it to be woken up every morning with the Steelheart squeezing the the fuck out of the penis. That, to me when I’m in the state of mind I’m in now, is comfort and love. To be sure, I want to fuck her more now than I have in a long, long time. But I need to feel that and not have it satisfied. 

I feel bad for sort of unilaterally checking out of our dynamic like I did. I know why I did it, but it was unfair of me to do it without communicating. I asked her to not let me get away with it again. If I refuse chastity, I need to be able to explain why. And I also asked her to make me do it anyway. The most toxic thing to my submission is implied indifference. She wasn’t being indifferent, but I was.

I have, I until recently, thought of D/s as an overlay to our base romantic relationship. I think that was true, but it’s been overlayed for so long I’m not sure there’s any difference anymore. I find that I’m simply incapable of getting excited about sex that doesn’t have a power exchange component. That when I’m not actively giving up power, then I’m not really being sexual. It’s like the D/s is less an overlay than it has been laminated onto our base relationship. They’re now inseparable and there’s no going back. Not ever. With that in mind, I should not be allowed to pretend otherwise.

To help keep me centered on my subness, I have asked Belle to help me come up with some kind of active demonstration of my submission to her. She is much more the Goddess than the Mistress and doesn’t get off on making me actively submit, but I feel as though I need just a small token of that to keep myself from feeling disconnected. Some little submissive touchstone I can moor myself to. We’ve had versions of this in the past. For a while, I wasn’t allowed to sleep naked without her permission to do so. I would have to ask permission to get into bed with her as a reminder that it was her bed not mine. I suppose someone would point out that wearing a steel chastity device all the time seems like the ultimate “submissive touchstone” but that’s so much a part of me now it’s hard to see it any other way. So, I don’t know. Not sure what it should be and Belle doesn’t either. Ideas?

I have news regarding Drew to pass along, but this post is long enough and it really should have its own. That will have to wait just a little longer (also, it needs to perhaps gel a bit further). Oh, mysterious!

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Back off, rabbit

If I look back on my sexual history over the last decade or so, I’d say the one area that could use some improvement that consistently shows up is that I’m far too…um, enthusiastic. Which, in and of itself, is one thing but when you combine that with a larger than normal visibility due to a platform such as this blog where I get to prattle on in front of thousands of eyeballs, it all gets out of control. I just get carried away. Part of that is because I’m constantly stewing in my own frustration and that causes me to perhaps make less defendable choices, but part of it is just how I am.

After yesterday’s post about the Facebook messages between Belle and TOG and whether I should read them following Belle’s offer to let me do so, I started to feel like I was doing it again. Yes, I still really want to read those messages, but no, I’m not going to. Partly because I decided it was too intrusive to Belle and her potential relationship with TOG and partly because the ethics of doing so are a little shaky but mostly because Belle decided it was too much. TOG is a thing that is happening to her, not me. She needs to be able to maintain a sphere of privacy and freedom and giving me such an unfettered view into her interactions with TOG totally punctures that. So yeah, that offer is now off the table.

I’m also going to try and get myself under control with regards to how much I talk about she and he. To be sure, things are not settled there and anything can happen. They may decide the emotional risk is too great for him if they became involved. He may freak out and ghost her. Things might just peter out as they sometimes do between people. If I make too big of a deal here and, because the prospect of it leaves me so fucking exited, then it starts to kind of hang a cloud over the whole thing. Because I write about it and because there will be comments or whatever, me and my take on what’s happening become too important. The gravitational influence starts to change the natural trajectory of the thing. It’s unfair to Belle and, I guess, TOG (though he knows nothing about any of this kinky sex blog stuff). 

So, starting today, I won’t be asking Belle any specific questions about TOG and their conversations or plans. She will share with me whatever she wants or needs to. I have reserved the right to be able to talk about how being the husband of a proto-hotwife makes me feel, both with her and here, but she gets to veto anything she thinks crosses a line and I’ll be doing my best to keep my blogging about it to a reasonable level. It might be different if she didn’t read the blog, but she does and always has and always will, so that’s that. Also, my only other ask (I call it an ask because it seems weird that I can make rules for her) is that each and every time they are together physically (if and when that happens), I want to know how often his cock is involved. But she does not need to offer specifics. Like, she could say they fucked and how many times but I wouldn’t be able to ask what he said to her while doing it or what piece of furniture she was bent over at the time. I can ask general-type stuff (“How did it make you feel?”) but even then she can cut me off if she thinks it’s too intrusive. Basically, other than the fact it happened, all other info will be metered out as she see fit. I think this is important because it maintains an airspace between them and us that respects her prerogative as the dominent partner.

It should be noted that Belle doesn’t think I can keep to this arrangement. She thinks I’ll crack and start asking things I’m saying now I won’t. I do totally acknowledge that I am craving information and am dying to ask more questions, but I am doing my best not to. The way it makes me feel is really very similar to what it feels like to be denied. It is a form of denial. It’s an demonstration of my submission. So from a dynamic standpoint, my lack of insight into what’s happening is a source of energy for me. The subby rabbit in me feeds off the fury of my internal sex lizard as he goes crazy thinking about what he doesn’t know.

She made me figure out for her today how she can Skype him. I don’t know when and for what purpose they will be using it and I’m not going to ask. I may not be told when it happens. So we’re already operating under the new rules. 

Funny thing about all this is I have now been living with an indescribably powerful desire to fuck the taste out of her mouth for about 72 hours. Continuous, palpable, and often difficult to contain every time I see her or hear her voice. Well, “difficult to contain” except for that one part. This morning, since I knew I wasn’t coming out of the Steelheart, all I wanted to do was set up camp between her legs and plant my face in her pussy. I hope that later tonight she’ll let me do it again. The introduction of TOG has made her the most desirable object in the world to me. Funny how that works. Also funny to think that one way couples could reinvigorate their relationships would be to crack them open every once in a while and let someone else have a turn. 

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Possession is nine-tenths, etc.

Belle and I spent some time after the lights were out last night just talking. Talking about TOG specifically, marital openess in general, me, her, etc. (even Drew, but that’s for another post). It was wonderful. Even though the tone was far more tame than the night before (for example, my finger wasn’t in any of her hot, wet orifices), it still left me too hopped up to sleep (and now you’re like, oh fucking great I get to read about how the rabbit can’t sleep again).

Anyway, lots to write about there, but first this…

At some point, Belle offered to let me read the history of her messaging with TOG. Not like right then but sometime if I wanted to. Nothing to hide and all that. I am of two minds. On the one hand, it’s pretty personal and seems borderline intrusive. But, of course, she offered and it would save her having to answer my endlessly annoying questions. On the other hand, I think it’d be hot as hell. Anyway, I asked Twitter what they thought and DarqKnight offered the above.

I want to talk about possessiveness. Not because I think DarqKnight is wrong. This is not a case of right and wrong. But “possessive” seems analogous to “jealous” and jealousy is really interesting to me.

I skipped over it yesterday, but I think jealousy is, at least in part and in some people, driven by insecurity. Worry that one’s partner will choose someone else or prefer someone else. In my case, my particular blend of perversions are such that rather than making me jealous, these possibilities turn me on. Also, as I said, I’m confident in my position with Belle and don’t for a second (well, not for two seconds — more on that in a minute) think she would leave me for TOG. Once that’s out of the way, there’s room for compersion to set in. Plus, there’s a real benefit to me for her to be having this fling.

What I mean by that involves the concept of “new relationship energy.” NRE is described by Wikipedia as…

[A] state of mind experienced at the beginning of most significant sexual and romantic relationships, typically involving heightened emotional and sexual receptivity and excitement.

I mean, we’ve all been there. Belle is experiencing a healthy jolt of NRE along with all the associated benefits and in the same way sunlight reflects off the moon some of it’s bouncing off her and hitting me. She’s in a better, sexier mood and that’s good for me. She’s ridiculously attractive to me right now. She’s also more interested in her health and well-being and I’m happy about that, too. So beyond the compersionistic aspect (yeah, I may have just made up a word) of feeling happy for her because she’s enjoying what’s going on, I’m able to also benefit from the real impact it’s having on her in other ways.

Of course, there’s a second way “possessive” can be defined. If I had a nice car (and I do), I would be possessive of it (and I am) as a thing that belongs to me and is mine to enjoy (and it is). Of course, there is no “car owner relationship dynamic” but if one was a Dom one might consider thier sub as “theirs” and feel a similar exclusive right of use. Maybe that’s what DarqKnight meant. If so, of course, I don’t feel that for Belle. I’m fortunate she doesn’t feel that about me (except for the penis, of course).

So I said I don’t for a second think Belle would leave me, but that’s not entirely true. As we were talking last night, she told me that I was wrong when I said all TOG knew about me was the relative size of the penis. Early on, when describing to him the parameters of our open marriage, she told him that I’d not only be OK with her being with him but that one of my fantasies was to be cuckolded. That helps explain the aggressive tone of his “I want you to enjoy sex with me more than him” attitude. As we talked about that, I had a brief bolt of panic that flickered for just a second. The idea that this other man would be actively trying to woo my wife and would have unfettered access to her while doing so is, however remotely, risky. And, I have to tell you, risky is sexy. How we respond to risk is sexy. Why do we do risky things? Because they’re fun. Risk means the envelope is being pushed. It’s really only with sex that we seem to collectively frown at the idea of introducing risk of any kind. So yeah, there is somewhere in me a tiny piece of worry and it may grow as we get closer to the time Belle will meet him, but to me it feels roughly equivalent to what it would feel like to downhill ski or skydive. Maybe something catastrophic happens, but chances are it won’t. Skating that edge has its own excitement.

There’s a noticeable age difference between TOG and Belle. Had I been able to cast my perfect guy-on-the-side for her, I would have probably made him closer to our age, but this is what it is. Belle seems worried that a guy in his late 20’s may not be fully prepared for what a woman in her forties is like, but I counter with the fact that there are lots of things that make someone sexy and desirable along with their physical attributes. She’s confident and successful and experienced and married and any or all of those things might be firing in TOG’s head as he thinks about her. He and I are in agreement that the age difference is actually pretty fucking hot.

I said in my first post about TOG that the only real concern I had was that Belle would be hurt. She told me her worry was actually the other way around. Apparently, TOG is quite smitten with her and may end up being more attached to her than is practical considering the circumstances (married, other side of the Atlantic, etc.). She’s been clear that she thinks he should think of her as a fun port o’ call on his life cruise and not a destination. If there’re any clouds on the horizon of this little adventure, it’s that TOG might become overly invested in Belle emotionally.

I suppose it’s possible Belle could, too. That her fun and sexy feelings for him, once she actually gets to know him in person, may become more significant. The prospect of this doesn’t bother me. Like I said yesterday, I think I am fundamentally polyamorous and feel pretty confident I would be able to adjust to a reality in which Belle had another significant relationship along ours, but I’m not sure Belle’s wired that way (let alone TOG who I know no better than a hole in the ground).

Getting back to the offer of reading her messages with him, I’m totally going to take her up on that. I think the prospect and her instant willingness to let me see them says a lot about the fundamental strength of our bond. It occurred to me last night when we talked and I said something about writing here about stuff that I wasn’t entirely sure it was appropriate. This blog is about Belle and my relationship. TOG represents something related but really totally separate. It’s her relationship with someone other than me. Regardless, she’s cool with me going on about it so I will, I’m sure, at length.

So yeah, that’s where we are…

Is it August yet?